


By Your Side

by saiditallbefore



Category: A Tangled Web - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Celebrations, Families of Choice, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 18:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20912132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/pseuds/saiditallbefore
Summary: Margaret and Brian, becoming a family.





	By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).

Amidst all the uproar and upheaval caused by Aunt Becky’s last legacy, Margaret Penhallow’s change in circumstances was almost forgotten about. 

Being talked about had been flattering, but disconcerting. It was all what you were used to, she supposed. And having spent the larger portion of her life mostly forgotten about, she was perfectly happy with being allowed to get along with her new life with Brian in Whispering Winds without any more than the usual nosiness from the rest of the clan.

When the winter winds blew and the snow began to stick, Whispering Winds proved that it was soundly built, and Margaret and Brian stayed snug inside their own little house.

It was on one of these nights, curled under blankets in the sitting room, when Brian asked the question that Margaret had been both expecting and dreading.

“Aunt Margaret,” he began, looking up at her with wide eyes, “Can you tell me about my mother?” He seemed to sense some hesitation in her, because he continued. “It’s only— you said you knew her. And no one ever talks about her.”

Margaret remembered Laura Dark. They’d been girlhood friends, before Margaret was resigned to perpetual spinsterhood and Laura was only referred to in hushed tones as “Poor Laura Dark”. 

“She was kind,” Margaret said. “That’s what I remember the most.” She brushed back a lock of Brian’s hair— the same dark color that Laura’s had been. “She had a good word for everyone. And she always saw the best in people.” 

“She sounds…” Brian trailed off.

Margaret frowned, trying to think of a story— something else she could give him. As she glanced at the swirling snow outside, one came to her.

“When we were children, we used to play outside after it snowed like this. The boys used to throw snowballs at us, as a prank. They didn’t expect us to do anything about it, of course— I never liked to make a fuss, if I could help it, and Laura was always so good, you know. But one day, she’d had enough.

“‘Let’s beat those boys at their own game,’ she said. So we woke up early and made a whole pile of snowballs, and when those boys— the same ones who liked to tease us— walked by, we surprised them.”

Brian laughed. “I bet you showed them!”

“Well, neither of us had very good aim.” Margaret laughed. Of course, they’d become young ladies within a few years of that incident, and snowball fights were all well and good for children, they were completely inappropriate for young ladies. 

Margaret wasn’t a young lady anymore, and she wasn’t dependent on anyone else’s goodwill, either. Maybe she and Brian could have a snowball fight in the morning, if they wanted.

Brian leaned over and hugged her. “I’m glad I have you now.”

* * *

Christmas at Whispering Winds was a quiet event, but it was better than any Brian had experienced before. Before, he’d never hoped for much on Christmas; his aunt and uncle had always given him _something_, but it was never much. 

But this year, when he woke up on Christmas morning, there was an entire pile of Christmas presents sitting under the tree.

Aunt Margaret was already awake, hand-stitching trim onto a dress in the morning light. She smiled softly at Brian.

He’d heard other people in the clan say she wasn’t very pretty, and he supposed that some of the ladies he saw at church or family gatherings were more beautiful, strictly speaking. But as far as Brian was concerned, none of them could hold a candle to Aunt Margaret’s warm eyes and quick smiles.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

“Merry Christmas,” Brian said. “Who are all the presents for?”

Aunt Margaret laughed— but kindly, not cruelly. “You, of course. Who else would they be for?”

Brian felt his eyes go wide. He’d hoped, of course, but he knew all too well how harshly reality could dash those hopes. He tried to find the words to thank Aunt Margaret, but they wouldn’t come to him, and all he could do was stammer.

Aunt Margaret caught his meaning, though, and she waved him towards the presents. “Go on, then,” she said. “Open them.”

The presents included new clothes (which he was thankful for, but quickly discarded in favor of more interesting things), a whole pile of new books (Aunt Margaret had begun the most delightful tradition of reading aloud in the evenings), and an assortment of other things, including a beautiful kite, a model aeroplane, and a baseball bat and ball.

Aunt Margaret looked faintly embarrassed. “I suppose I was a bit extravagant,” she said. “But I wanted our first Christmas to be a good one.”

Brian jumped up and threw his arms around Aunt Margaret. “It’s good because I’m spending it with you.”

Aunt Margaret embraced him tightly. “I’m so glad.”

* * *

Whispering Winds had been sadly neglected for a long time. The house was sturdy enough, and the interior had been refurnished and thoroughly cleaned shortly after Margaret and Brian moved in, but the garden was another story entirely.

It was sadly overgrown and neglected. The forget-me-nots were running wild, and the vines were beginning to grow over the roof, and the weeds were starting to choke out everything else in the garden.

The spring sunshine was beginning to chase away the winter chill, and Margaret was already looking forward to all the lovely spring dresses she would get to sew for the women in the clan. But today? Today was for herself and Brian and Whispering Winds.

Margaret knelt in the garden, pulling weeds and tossing them aside. She glanced up, and smiled as she caught a glimpse of Brian running down the little hill behind their cottage. It was unclear exactly what he was doing, but he certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, exactly as a child should.

She turned her attention back to the garden. The house wouldn’t look right without the vines, but they were beginning to take over. Maybe if she just pruned them back?

Margaret was just searching for her pruning shears when she heard Brian’s voice. 

“Aunt Margaret! Aunt Margaret!”

She stood quickly, looking for the source of the problem. But there was nothing, only Brian running toward her. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Brian reached her and grabbed on her arm. “You have to come and see.” Whatever it was seemed to have him excited, so Margaret obediently tagged along after him.

Brian led her to the run-down storage shed on the other side of the cottage. Margaret hadn’t looked in it very closely; she wasn’t sure what was in there.

“Brian—” she began.

He held a finger up to his lips. “Shhh.” Then he stepped inside.

Furrowing her brows, Margaret followed him in, blinking her eyes to adjust to the dim light. It took a long minute, but she finally saw what Brian was looking at.

Curled up against an overturned box was a sleek black cat and three kittens. 

Margaret had never thought of getting a cat before. She would never have had a place to keep one, when she lived with Denzil. But Brian looked at the cats with absolute adoration in his eyes, and Margaret knew: she _had_ to get him a cat. All four of those cats, if he wanted.

She gestured for him to follow her out of the shed.

“I don’t know what cats are supposed to eat,” she said. “But I’m sure that mother cat is hungry.”

Brian beamed at her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Aunt Margaret!”

* * *

Brian sprawled across his bed, stroking Shadow, the mother cat he’d found.

Aunt Margaret hadn’t just let him keep Shadow; she’d let him keep all three of Shadow’s kittens, too. Just like everything that had happened since he’d come to live with Aunt Margaret, it seemed too good to be true.

He’d decided that he wanted to do something for her. But deciding what to do had taken him a while.

A story Aunt Margaret told about her childhood, in which she dropped a chance mention of her birthday, gave him an idea. Unfortunately, Brian still didn’t have any idea when Aunt Margaret’s birthday was. He thought, based on her story, that it was sometime in the summer. But when he asked her, she just laughed and changed the subject. (Apparently, there were some things you weren’t supposed to ask ladies, even Aunt Margaret.)

So, he screwed up his courage. 

Brian didn’t know Mr. Denzil very well. They’d met at church, and at family gatherings, but— like most of the adults in the clan— Mr. Denzil seemed inclined to overlook Brian, and Brian didn’t talk to many adults besides Aunt Margaret. But Mr. Denzil was Aunt Margaret’s brother, and if anyone was going to know her birthday, it would be him.

So after church one afternoon, Brian managed to pull Mr. Denzil aside— away from his wife and pack of children— and, with much stammering, finally ask what he needed to know. Luckily, Aunt Margaret’s birthday was still a few weeks away.

It took him a bit of time to figure out what he should do for Aunt Margaret. She’d done so much for him; he really wanted to do something special for her. Or at least, as special as he could, with the little bit of pocket money he had.

But one afternoon, he walked home to Whispering Winds (he’d been running a small errand for Aunt Margaret further in town) and he saw her sitting under one of the birch trees, scribbling away on a loose sheaf of paper.

When she saw Brian, she hastily put the papers away. 

“Is that your poetry?” he asked. She’d mentioned at one point that she wrote poetry, but she’d never read any to Brian, yet.

Aunt Margaret smiled, a bit hesitantly. “It’s not very good.”

“I’m sure it is,” Brian said. “_You_ wrote it.”

She ruffled his hair, but Brian already had knew what he was going to do.

A few days before Aunt Margaret’s birthday, Brian slipped away and walked to town. It took him some time, but he didn’t mind at all. The day was clear, the road was shady and smooth, and he was on a mission. 

The store sold all sizes and colors and styles of blank books. Some of them looked like exactly the sort of book that poetry deserved to be written down in. But Brian only had a little bit of pocket money, and all the prettiest blank books were far out of his price range. So instead, he picked out what he thought was the nicest of the plain books: one with a rich blue cover, and lots of pages just waiting to be filled.

The clerk at the store wrapped it up in paper for him, and Brian tucked it away in an inner pocket until he got home. When he got back to Whispering Winds, he tucked it away under his bed, where he was certain no one would look— at least, not until after Aunt Margaret’s birthday.

The day of Aunt Margaret’s birthday, Brian bounced out of bed, grabbed the package, and raced to the kitchen. 

“Good morning, Brian,” Aunt Margaret said, from where she was stirring breakfast.

“Happy birthday!” Brian called.

Aunt Margaret looked startled. “Brian,” she began. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Brian said, placing the package on the kitchen table.

As soon as breakfast was done, she sat down across from Brian at the table and began turning over the package before opening it carefully.

When all the paper was removed, she lifted up the blank book and turned it over. “It’s lovely, Brian.”

“It’s for your poetry,” Brian said. “I thought you should have a place to put it.” 

When he looked at Aunt Margaret, he was astonished to see that she was blinking away tears. 

“I’m sorry,” he began, without knowing quite what he was apologizing for. “I didn’t mean—”

Aunt Margaret stood and scooped Brian up in a hug. “Don’t apologize,” she said. “I do think that this is the best birthday present I’ve ever received.”

Brian smiled.

“Now,” Aunt Margaret said. “Why don’t we finish breakfast, and you can help me pick out the first poem I’ll transcribe over into this new book of mine?”


End file.
